


This Late Night Habit

by perdue



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, no happy endings here, unmutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdue/pseuds/perdue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is coming to an end, and Ellis must come to terms with the fact that not everything in life is as uncomplicated as survival. Especially not where love's involved. El/Ro, Nick/El.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> so this started out as a birthday present and then there were chapters. oops.
> 
> i realize the premise for this fic is a little shakey at best, but it is a possibility that i was interested in pursuing.
> 
> at first this was supposed to be a nick/ellis with onesided ellis/ro but it's kinda become an everyone has onesided feelings fic since i realized that nick/ellis being endgame in this verse is highly unrealistic after what happens. so like, don't read this if you don't like everything being sad. :(

Her shirt was bloodstained, the greasiness of her hair beginning to show despite how much she tried to hide it by keeping it in a ponytail. But Ellis didn't care. She was beautiful.

What Ellis saw when he looked at Rochelle was innate strength. She wasn't like other girls. When the zombies started attacking, she did not hesitate in asking about guns and how to use them. In a matter of twenty minutes, she could load and fire a pistol with startling accuracy. As they moved across the worsening South, he taught her about machine guns and assault rifles and snipers, and she took to it as any other woman might take to shopping or cell phones.

As their time together increased, Ellis noticed other things about her. She was naturally inquisitive; she had a no bullshit attitude that had saved all of their lives more than once. And despite this—despite her typically serious manner—she was so gracious, so caring. Whenever they all got in over their heads, even if she herself was badly wounded, she would make sure Ellis was properly treated until she thought about anything else. She called him "Ellis, sweetie," and she looked him in the eyes and told him everything was going to be okay. It didn't take long until Ellis was certain that he loved her more than anything.

However, he was acutely aware that he was not the only one whose eyes followed her. Every few days when she went off to attempt to keep some extent of personal hygiene, Nick would watch her ass as she left and would murmur something like, "Damn, what I wouldn't give to get me a piece of that." Perhaps it was because Ellis was so much younger than the others, but Nick seemed convinced that he would love to ogle over Rochelle with him, to share in his sexual, bestial desires. Ellis said nothing when Nick mentioned the nice shape of her tits, or wondered aloud how tight she was, how much he wanted to make her scream. It disgusted Ellis, but they all needed Nick to survive. Getting rid of him would definitely be detrimental to keeping Rochelle alive.

More than anything, he wished he could show Nick just how important and deserving of chivalry she was. He wished so much that Rochelle could see how beautiful she was, and how much he truly loved her.

\--

It was nighttime and there were no safe houses nearby, so Coach scouted out an abandoned house, and they all helped set traps by the doors and available windows. It wouldn't keep a hoard out, but it would at least warn them of any unwanted visitors.

"We should all sleep in the same room. Safer," Ellis said, glancing shyly at Rochelle.

Nick stared at Ellis for a moment, then gave Rochelle a long, hungry glance, and replied, "Come on, Ellis. We got an actual house with separate rooms to sleep in for once. Don't you want a little privacy?" He removed his jacket and winked at Ellis before turning away. "Rochelle, honey, what's left to eat?"

"Just a bunch of old canned food. I gave the bag to Coach, take it up with him. I for one am exhausted." She yawned to accentuate her point and turned to the first bedroom. "Wake me if there's any trouble."

Ellis swallowed and watched her go with an ache in his chest. Even if there was trouble, he wouldn't wake her. He would do anything to keep her safe.

\--

Since they had found each other in the post-apocalyptic world—since they had all spent so much time together—Ellis had been able to pick up on and understand many of his companions' habits and mannerisms.

Coach, during down time, tended to gaze at the ring on his finger with love and longing; he was married and had lived with his wife in Savannah for more than twenty years. He had a tendency to give the last of his meals to Ellis, and whenever Ellis had trouble patching himself up, Coach was there to lend a helping hand; his wife and Ellis' mother had known each other, and perhaps because he and his wife had been unable to have children of their own, Coach couldn't help but think of Ellis as a sort of son.

Rochelle was headstrong and tended to be a little bossy at times; after being stuck as assistant to a low-end producer for so long, the change of scenery gave her an insecure confidence—a leadership she needed to compensate for being degraded and under-appreciated in the previously uninfected world. She took to Ellis quickly and always without fail addressed him with her best manners; Ellis did, after all, give her all the respect and admiration for which she had always pined.

Nick had a smug façade of snarky remarks and pessimistic sarcasm, but Ellis knew there were feelings he harbored to which he would never admit; as a man in the business of screwing people over, he had inevitably been screwed over several times himself. He treated Ellis like a true pal, saw him as a free young spirit on whom he could rely; several pieces of Nick's past tended to go unsaid, but Ellis was sure that enough corrupt people had ruined Nick's life that the conman could truly appreciate Ellis' frank innocence.

\--

Footsteps were significant to Ellis.

The sound of footsteps was often one of the only things you could use to distinguish friend from foe, especially at night when it was impossible to trust sight alone. Fortunately, for the most part the footsteps of the infected tended to be pretty distinctive—they were without fail staggering, drunk on bloodlust most likely, unless they were running. When they were running, they were frighteningly accurate, and if there was a lot of them at one time, and you were running _from_ them, it sounded like a thunder storm chasing you. Ellis shivered at even the thought of it. He knew too well what it felt like.

Knowing the footsteps of your own teammates was important, because if you couldn't tell them apart from the things you intended to kill, the people you cared about would end up dead. It only took him a week to memorize them all. Because Coach had a bad knee, every other step was heavy with most of his weight. Rochelle's steps were light and ever-so-cautious after years of stepping around an irritable boss. Nick was the only one who ever changed. Usually he walked casually, occasionally with a little swagger if he was in one of his moods and wanted Rochelle to notice him. However, at night when his façade was let down and he approached Ellis thinking Ellis was asleep, his steps were quiet, considerate. Ellis never questioned Nick's late-night habit of checking on him. If Nick needed the reassurance that Ellis was alright, then far be it from him to put him on the spot about it.

\--

It had been several hours since Rochelle went to bed. Ellis stayed up to do his shift of standing watch while Coach and Nick eventually followed Rochelle's example. Midnight rolled around and Ellis kept his eyes on the front door he had boarded up until he heard the slightly heavy, casual footsteps of Nick. Ellis waited to hear the bathroom door open but never did. Nick passed the bathroom, and Ellis felt sick to his stomach as the realization struck him: Nick's destination was Rochelle's room.

Ellis figured a man like Nick was used to screwing women on a regular basis. An apocalypse wasn't exactly conducive to that sort of behavior, and of course Nick had his needs. But taking advantage of Rochelle?

Ellis wouldn't allow it.

Swiftly and silently, Ellis rose from his chair and ran to stand in front of the hall leading to Rochelle's room just as Nick was about to walk through. Nick stopped short, and Ellis looked him desperately in the eyes.

"I know whatcha want, but you can't get it from her," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Nick watched him with vague surprise, but was clearly distracted. His face was glistening in the pale light, the moon shining from a window above them, revealing his perspiration and faintly flushed cheeks. Ellis didn't have to look to know there was a bulge in his pants.

"Ellis, you're gonna have to move aside," he said quietly. "Ro and I have some business to attend to."

He grabbed Ellis' arm when the boy refused to move, but Ellis merely pushed him back. Nick's brows furrowed and he glowered at Ellis. "I don't wanna have to ask you again," he said. When Ellis didn't move, he grabbed the front of his shirt, and Ellis felt his heels leave the floor. He couldn't fight Nick, not now, not when he was angry. Ellis didn't doubt that he could do plenty of damage, but fighting Nick posed the risk of not just waking up Coach and Rochelle, but attracting the infected.

Hadn't Ellis promised to always make sure Rochelle was safe? He couldn't just let Nick walk in there and do whatever the hell he wanted. But what could he do? If he wasn't going to _fight_ Nick, how could he make Nick stop?

In a moment of desperation and ultimately seeing no other option, Ellis grabbed at Nick's shirt before the conman could toss him to the ground. "Nick, please…" he murmured. Swallowing his fear and doing his best to embrace the course of action he must take, he looked Nick in the eyes and said quietly, "If you gotta do this... M-Me. Do it to me, not her."

The conman stared at him in vague shock, as if the words were barely registering, and without giving himself time to think, Ellis leaned in, his feet still dangling, and kissed Nick on the mouth. He tasted like liquor, and when Ellis opened his eyes, Nick's were already open, bloodshot, and staring into his. He broke the kiss and his grip on Ellis' shirt tightened. His lips were quivering and his eyes were piercing, but they lacked the sharpness of anger.

"You're an idiot," he growled. Ellis didn't know if that was a no or a yes, so he kissed him again, lips barely touching, and whispered, "Please," so desperately that he surprised even himself.

Finally Nick dropped him and pushed him away before saying quietly without looking at him, "Go to my room and get undressed."

Ellis shivered and nodded and did as he was told. It wasn't until he was down to his boxers and sitting alone on the edge of Nick's bed, shaking with fear at what he was going to do, that the thought crossed his mind that Nick had just played him for a fool—tricked him, lied as he might have with cards once upon a time. Ellis should have known. Nick wanted to fuck a _woman_ , so why in hell would he settle for Ellis?

He stood, recklessly prepared to barge into Rochelle's room to get Nick the hell away from her, when the conman himself opened the door and walked in, a small tube in his hand and a frown on his lips.

"Get on the bed."

Ellis could sense that he was irritated and without thinking hurried to comply. Nick undressed slowly, sloppy, watching Ellis as he did so. Ellis' stomach felt tight, his chest constricted. Nick's briefs finally fell to the floor, and Ellis tried to swallow the bile climbing up his throat from sheer nervousness and faint disgust.

"On your knees." The command was unbearably quiet, and Ellis wanted to cry, but he did it anyways. The bed creaked as Nick's weight was added to it, and rough hands found their way to Ellis' hips. They moved clumsily over his thighs and buttocks, though not out of inexperience. In the time it had taken Nick to find that tube (of lubricant, Ellis figured), he had also apparently found more alcohol. His breath smelled heavily of vodka, and he left small shot kisses down Ellis' back as his hands found the hem of his boxers and pulled them down to rest at his knees. Something inside him screamed in apprehension even before he felt Nick's erection against him, and he bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed just to stifle his discomfort.

Nick forced his way inside, breaking any resistance, his pelvis bouncing against Ellis' backside. Inconsiderate, there was no time for Ellis to even try to adjust before Nick was pounding into him, a drunken rhythm that ignited pain into every muscle, every nerve. He tried to fight it, but it _hurt_ , worse than being torn at by the infected, worse than being pummeled and burned and hanged. Those were all things Ellis could relate to the elation of the fight; that strange feeling of being the most alive when so close to death. Kill or be killed. It's the fucking apocalypse, and the future be damned if he's not going to enjoy himself while he can. But here Nick was violating him; Ellis may have consented, but this was too much. He tried to think of Rochelle, but he didn't want the image he held of her underneath his eyelids to be connected to any sort of pain. It was better to know that he was doing this to save her and bear the burden alone.

Nick grunted and pushed and Ellis was sure he would split open. But agonizingly enough he stayed in one piece, experiencing every little movement of Nick's hips and hands with complete consciousness. It hurt, it hurt. Tears finally fell from his eyes and he let out a gasping sob, filled with nothing but pain and conflicted shame. Nick ejaculated and pulled out and Ellis fell to the bed.

"Ellis, are you okay?" Ellis only cried, quietly. Nick's voice was faint, though from his own pain or something else Ellis was unsure. He tried to block it out.

"El?" It didn't take long for Ellis to succumb to the raw aching all over his body, and his pillow was wet before he fell into his exhaustion, restlessly sleeping though the tears still fell.

"E-Ellis, talk to me."


	2. Determination

Plates and glasses clinked in the morning light, and somewhere between the haze of sleep and consciousness Ellis imagined he was laying in his bed, his mother preparing breakfast as she always had. It seemed like forever ago. But for now, Ellis could convince himself of this warmth, could feel safe, could know that any moment now, mom was going to knock on his door and say—

"Ellis, sweetie, you awake?"

His eyes opened slowly, and there was the cracked, old, off-white ceiling, but it wasn't his. Nothing was really his anymore.

"Oh good, you _are_ awake," Rochelle said. She was standing somewhere behind him. "I'm throwing something together for breakfast if you're interested. Just watch out," she added, her voice lowering, "I think Coach is pissed that you never woke anyone else to stand watch." She giggled and Ellis could see her fingers as they brushed his bangs back before she retreated to the kitchen.

Ellis was lying down on the couch, his arms crossed over his stomach. His clothes had been replaced, and besides the fact that he was a little more drowsy than usual, nothing felt different. However, when he sighed and made to get up, it was there; the pain had caught up with him. It was duller now, but there was still that incessant aching. He tried to ignore it and sat up, which only made it worse.

Determination was really the only thing that could induce him to stand, and he grabbed his hat from the arm of the couch before walking to the kitchen. Rochelle was alone, rummaging through the drawers, probably looking for a can opener. The table was set for four, and Ellis' mouth hung open when he saw that the plates were covered in a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables—tomatoes and apples and corn and peas and pears and God knew what else. He stood speechless until Rochelle finally turned around and smiled at him.

"Amazing, ain't it? Who would have imagined there'd be a garden in the back yard of this place?" She put her hands on her hips—a can opener was in one of them—and looked out the French double doors. Even out the windows you could see the area surrounding the door was lined with land mines, though the infected wouldn't have noticed if they felt the urge to run through the yard towards the house. But Rochelle wasn't looking at the ground. She was looking at the sky, that eternal expanse of bright blue. "It kinda reminds you that there's always hope," she said softly. "Those vegetables kept growing even after everyone became infected, and when they die their seeds will replant the ground and new ones will grow. Makes you think, maybe everything that dies is reborn somehow—it all just depends on how you look at it."

A moment of silence passed and she seemed to remember what she had been doing, for she shot Ellis a quick smile before turning back to the counter with her can opener. "I think Coach was taking a shower. Can you believe we actually got running water and everything? Nick hasn't come out of his room yet. Told me to go away when I went to wake him up. I guess he's in one of his moods." She paused, put down the can she'd been working on. It looked as though something in her was registering, and finally she turned around to look at Ellis. "Honey, what's wrong? You ain't said a thing since you woke up, and you're pale."

Rochelle stopped talking when Ellis looked up to meet her gaze. There were tears in his eyes, and he bit them back, hating that for a moment she looked absolutely horrified, but when his gaze averted from hers he couldn't help himself. The tears spilled over and he shut his eyes tightly as a short sob escaped him.

Only a moment went by before Rochelle walked over to him, and she did not hesitate in putting an arm around his neck and the other pressed to the back of his head, pulling his face to her shoulder. His hat fell to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his inhale shuddering and his exhale another quiet sob, crying in her arms like a child.

\--

"Where's Pa?"

It was dusk, and mother's face was blotchy with already shed tears. Ten-year-old Ellis hung at the door, clinging to its frame as he watched mother sit at the edge of her and father's bed, crying. The child looked away after a moment; watching mother cry felt like watching an angel bleed.

"Momma…"

She sobbed loudly and put her face in her hands. Ellis moved away from the door frame and snuck over to her, placing a tentative hand on her knee. "Momma?" Finally she wiped at the tears on her cheeks and placed a hand on Ellis' head, fingers sifting through his hair, and looked him in the eyes. Her eyelashes were wet.

"Sweetie," she murmured, her voice cracking. "Papa ain't… Papa ain't gonna be coming home no more." Ellis' grip on her knee tightened, and his head pushed against her hand.

"Is Pa dead?"

Mother almost laughed at that. "No, El. He ain't dead." Her eyes grew solemn, and the hand that had been stroking Ellis' hair fell to her lap. "He ain't dead." Ellis grabbed her hand.

"Then why ain't he comin' back?" She burst into tears again, and Ellis himself felt on the verge of crying. "Momma, why ain't he comin' back?"

"He's – Papa's leavin' me. He's leavin' us, darlin'. I think his love for me has 'bout run out." Ellis looked her in the eyes, unaware that the image of his broken, sobbing mother would haunt him for the next thirteen years.

"Don't he love me no more?"

Mother pulled Ellis to her, wrapped him safely in her arms. She never answered.

\--

"What's goin' on?"

The sound of Coach's voice was the trigger to separate them, and while Ellis went to wiping his eyes, his back to Coach, Rochelle faced him. "Ellis is feeling a little sad is all." Coach looked a little incredulous.

"We _are_ talking about the same Ellis, ain't we? This is the boy who was ecstatic about running across a zombie-infested rollercoaster." His tone had been pleasant, but no one spoke, so Coach continued. "Look, Ellis… I'm sorry you ain't feeling well, but what happened last night cannot happen again." Ellis tensed. If Coach or Rochelle noticed, they didn't mention it. "I get that you were tired—we all were. But if someone isn't watching out when we aren't in a safe house, and if something happens, by the time anyone comes to their senses it could be too late. D'you understand, Ellis?"

Ellis didn't turn around, instead muttering to the cupboards, "Yeah."

Coach made an indignant sound. Rochelle quickly cut in. "Coach, just let it go. He made a mistake, it won't happen again. Now Ellis, sweetie, why don't you go take a shower and I'll save a plate for you. Okay?" Their eyes met and she gave him a sympathetic smile. He sighed.

"Okay."

Coach moved away from the door so that Ellis could leave, and as he walked through the living room he could hear them whispering to each other. Ellis might have expected it; he'd never cried in front of his teammates before, not about losing his mother or being in pain or anything, really. Naturally they would wonder what had caused it.

He reached for the bathroom doorknob, but it opened from the inside, and suddenly Nick was standing before him. Ellis tried to step back, but Nick already had a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to deliberate for a moment before saying quietly, "You've been crying. Are you in pain?" Ellis brushed him off, pulling his shoulder free.

"That ain't none of your business," he muttered. Nick's other hand pressed against the side of Ellis' face, not unkindly, forcing the young man to look at him. Nick's eyes were horribly serious.

"I fucked up, Ellis. I was drunk and horny and I didn't realize you were a virgin when you told me to—"

Nick was cut off by Ellis' fist pounding against his left cheek. He stumbled back into the bathroom and knocked into something before righting himself and staring at Ellis in faint shock. Ellis refused to look at him.

"I'm gonna take a shower now if that's aight with you," he said softly. Blood began to ooze from the new cut on Nick's cheek, and he stared at Ellis a moment longer before seeming to come to his senses.

"Yeah," he said equally softly. He walked out of the bathroom and Ellis walked in, the door slamming behind him. Moments later he could hear Coach's and Rochelle's voices outside.

"We heard something crash, is everything okay?"

"Oh my God, Nick, what happened? Did Ellis do that to you?"

"Don't bother him about it. I'm the one who provoked him. It's my fault."

\--

Ellis had been ten years old when his father left; too young to quite understand what would compel his own pa to abandon his mother and him, but certainly old enough to feel anger. Dust scattered into the air, Ellis' bare feet pounding against the dirt road that led from his home, running to God knew where. Cries of, " _Ellis! Come back!_ " went to the wind. Mother chased him, but she would stop soon enough. Ellis was determined, tireless, and mother was already slowing down, age hindering her in ways Ellis had yet to experience.

He didn't know where father had gone, only that he had to find him, make him pay for making mother cry. The sun hit zenith, and there were no clouds, nothing to keep the heat from pouring down the back of Ellis' neck. Lone houses, barns went by, trailer parks and backwater shacks. Ellis kept running. Eventually the sun sunk further towards the west and Ellis pushed his small legs, panting short, hot gasps as he told himself town was just up ahead, and he would find father and fucking _kill_ him if he had to. But he had pushed himself too far past his limit, and he finally stumbled and fell to the ground.

Perspiration soaked into the dirt and he breathed harshly against the ground, inhaling dust. There was stinging in his eyes, his nose, his throat, and he choked saliva, his skin burning on contact with the hot ground while his determination burned hotter. He tried to get his knee up under his stomach so that he could gain the leverage to stand, but his body stiffened and he gave a muffled cry of pain before again going limp. The ground at his feet was stained burgundy with the blood of raw sores and cuts.

Footsteps could be heard from far away, coming closer. They were running towards him. Ellis didn't know what was more embarrassing—that he had fallen, or that he was too exhausted to get up. Finally the footsteps stopped right next to him. A boy spoke.

"Hey, there y'are." Suddenly Ellis was being pushed onto his back, and he was greeted by a shock of red hair and a buck toothed grin. "You done killed yerself running, and you ain't wearin' no shoes er nothin'! You must be crazy!" The boy's grin widened. "I gotta say, you and me's gonna make some great friends."

Ellis choked on dust and surprise and said, "Who're you?"

"Why, I'm Keith!" said the boy. "Damn, you's sure fast, I could barely catch ya. You got a name?"

"I'm Ellis."

"Well howdy, Ellis! I sure am glad I caught you. But why're you runnin' so much? Yer feet look like you been runnin' all dang day!" Ellis tried not to think about how much his feet hurt.

"I'm try'na find my pa," he growled. "He ran away. Wouldn' even tell me his own self. He's a damn coward."

"Is that so?" asked Keith. After a pause he said, "You got a ma?"

"O' course!" Ellis replied indignantly.

"Where is she?"

Ellis' eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I reckon she's back at home, prob'ly, if she ain't lookin' for me." Keith smiled serenely, completely unlike his thus far foolish grin.

"If your pa ran off, why're you wastin' energy on 'im? Sounds like your ma must be mighty worried 'bout you." Ellis stared at him, speechless and too aware of how Keith kneeled next to him, one elbow resting on his own thigh and the other hand gently touching Ellis' arm. "After all, the only thing that really matters is protectin' what's important. Don'tcha think?"

Several seconds passed and Ellis thought he might cry. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yer right."

\--

Here, stripped of everything, Ellis could let go—could be free to search himself of the damage done the night before.

The showerhead was old and the water pressure was shit, but Ellis didn't take notice. His hands ran through his hair before moving to his chest. Nick hadn't touched him very much, which everything considered wasn't much of a surprise. Ellis' hands drifted down, fingertips gracing over his now wet hips, bruised with careless fingernail indents. He cringed, but those were the least of his problems.

His hands moved cautiously to his buttocks. The skin there was unusually smooth and tender, and when he applied pressure, he gritted his teeth. It was bruised there, too. He closed his eyes and turned around so that the spray was hitting his chest. The warm water felt good, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest so that the water would pool there. He didn't want to have to think about what he really needed to check.

Perhaps it wasn't necessary, but he had to know—some sick, masochistic sort of curiosity. His arms moved from his chest and the water splashed to the tub; one hand went to the wall, the other inching shyly back to his ass, past the fold and fumbling to where it hurt the most. The tip of his finger grazed against the sphincter, and his mind went reeling from the pain that shot right through him, his insides aching horribly—surprising for such a small wound.

It was strange and frightening to think that Ellis had never touched himself there before, had never even thought of it. He brought his hand away and held it in front of his eyes; there was a mixture of red and white staining his fingertip, blood and semen. Nick had done this to him; Nick had hurt him and really fucking _enjoyed_ it. And Ellis had let him. He would be scared of the fact if there wasn't something that terrified him even more:

He would let Nick do it to him again if it meant saving Rochelle.


	3. Steady

The streets were mostly empty when they departed. The few infected that were stumbling around noticed them after a few moments and began to drag themselves in the survivors' direction, shrieking and growling with blood dripping from their mouths. Everyone paused, but Ellis made no move and finally when the closest infected was only yards away Rochelle took it out with her pistol and did not hesitate in silencing the other three. She gave Ellis a curious look which he chose to ignore. Yes, he was usually the one eager to make the morning's first kill, and yes, he still wasn't saying much despite being the most talkative person any of them had ever met. Unfortunately for them, he was feeling much too contrary to care.

They were about twelve miles outside of Slidell. Evacuation in Savannah had been a disaster, and the best lead they had was to head for New Orleans, which, according to the graffiti on the walls of several safe houses, was a militarized safe zone, free from infection. Nick had been pessimistic enough to remind them that all of the "militarized safe zones" they had encountered so far had been overrun with infected and completely deserted of human life. Though Coach and Rochelle had shot him dirty looks (and Nick _did_ apologize, more because of Ellis' crestfallen expression than their exasperation), they all quietly knew that Nick was right; the chances of the military being in New Orleans was low at best. It wasn't quite the prospect of safety that drove them. They knew deep down that there was no such thing as safety, not anymore. The reason they steadily pushed on for New Orleans was to fill the void of purposeless existence. As long as they tried, they could half-hope that something might turn out right.

"We should be gettin' up on the border soon. It's right outside Pearlington," Coach finally said, and though no one answered, they all felt the relief of knowing that their adventure would soon be over. "But y'all best remember," he went on with a warning tone, "that just inside the border is that wildlife conservation area or whatever big name they gave it. What I mean is that for a few miles we're gonna be surrounded by nothin' but swamp and jungle, and make no mistake, there ain't gonna be no safe houses and likely ain't gonna be much spare ammo layin' around or nothin'. Whatever we need, we grab it now while we're still in town, got it?"

Rochelle gave a soft, "Yeah," and Nick grunted his acknowledgment. Ellis said nothing, and Coach didn't fail to notice. Everyone halted in the intersection where he decidedly turned around to face Ellis and look him over for a few moments before reaching into his pocket and taking out a small bottle of pills which he threw to the mechanic. Ellis caught them reflexively, but immediately threw them back.

"Don't want 'em?" Coach asked.

"Don't need 'em," Ellis replied. He wouldn't meet Coach's gaze.

"Ya sure about that, boy? You're lookin' pale."

Rochelle's eyebrows twitched, and her expression became deeply concerned. Nick, for that matter, was also uncharacteristically silent, half-heartedly watching the street for any unwanted visitors.

"You don't think you're getting sick, do you?" Rochelle asked suddenly, and the weight of that question, all of its connotations, was certainly not lost on Ellis. Sick was just a step away from infection, and they'd all seen the news before hell completely broke loose; how it had started with a strange new strain of fever, and the next thing everyone knew there was a goddamned apocalypse.

"I ain't sick!" Ellis said forcefully, and he glanced unwittingly at Nick who looked up to meet his gaze. But Ellis looked away and repeated more softly, "I ain't sick." Several silent moments passed, and Coach watched Ellis thoughtfully as Rochelle's confused gaze went slowly back and forth between Ellis and Nick, until finally, impatient, Ellis said, "Aight, are we goin' or ain't we?"

Another moment and then Coach nodded. "Yeah, we best be gettin' outta here. Y'all are fine on ammo? No one's missin' a health kit?"

Murmured affirmations followed and the survivors headed down highway 604, passing through the intersection and trying to ignore the burned down fire station on their right.

\--

Interstate 90 was nothing but swampy tall grass and rivers, humid air under an infinite blue sky. Ellis could feel the sweat drip down his neck and the heat cling to his skin and severe shots of pain ride up the nerves in his hips. Nothing had ever hurt so much, or been so goddamn _uncomfortable_ , probably because he had never before experienced physical pain that couldn't be mended with a health kit, let alone that he couldn't tell anyone about.

He glanced at Nick; the heat had induced him to take off his jacket, and heavy perspiration stained the pits and back of his cerulean dress shirt a darker shade of blue. His disgruntled face was flushed, but he didn't complain as he would on any other occasion, and he was certainly giving Ellis plenty more space than usual. Coach and Rochelle might have been wondering at his sudden introversion, but Ellis knew exactly why he was keeping to himself.

Ellis removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, and a drip of it fell from his bangs before replacing the hat on his head. Somehow he felt a small, fluttering pang of satisfaction to know that Nick felt enough regret to intentionally isolate himself when in any other instance he would gladly gripe about the heat or the plain scenery or how disgusting he felt with his shirt and pants sticking to his skin.

However, there wasn't much time to bask in Nick's unhappiness, because they all froze in mutual horror when the ground began to quiver beneath their feet, that unmistakable growling off in the distance.

"Tank!" Rochelle shouted, and the four of them instinctively came closer, backs to one another, each searching the horizon for any sign of the monster.

"There," Ellis said calmly, his voice nearly drowned out from the rumbling of the concrete. He pointed south into the swamp, and there it was, its bulky form coming into view over the tall grass.

"We should run," Rochelle said quickly.

"It'll just catch up with us," Nick interjected, and though his tone was angry, they could all hear the subtle trembling fear.

"We'll die if we fight it here!" Rochelle cried, hysterical.

"Well maybe if you'd shut the hell up it wouldn't notice us!"

"Guys!" They both looked at Ellis. "Don' worry, guys. It's gonna be okay." He reached hastily back into his pack and pulled out a molotov. They all stared at him in silent awe.

"Where'd you get that?" Rochelle finally asked.

Ellis shrugged, and with a meaningful glance towards Nick, replied, "There were lotsa empty bottles jus' layin' 'round that house we stayed at. Wasn't too hard to whip this one up 'fore we left."

A great roar disrupted him, and suddenly the tank was upon them, its inhuman muscles flexing as it reached back and brought its fist forward, slamming Coach into the blockade on the other side of the highway. It rounded on Rochelle next, and she ran backwards, unloading bullets into it, but none of them seemed to penetrate its thick skin, and finally it was close enough and pounded against her small frame with its large hand, unwittingly knocking her assault rifle over the blockade and into the swamp. She screamed, and Ellis froze, eyes wide in consternation.

"Overalls!"

The mechanic jumped at being addressed, and looked over to see Nick staring at him, frazzled and distressed. "The molotov!" the conman added hastily, helplessly gesticulating at the tank until the young man came to his senses and pulled the lighter out of his pocket.

Meanwhile Coach had gotten back to his feet, and both he and Nick turned on the tank, shooting its back so that it would get distracted from pummeling Rochelle and turn on them instead, hurdling towards them on all fours. "Ellis, hurry!" He heard Nick's alarmed voice and realized belatedly that Rochelle was out of harm's way now, though his eyes hadn't left her. He fumbled to light the cloth tied to the end of the vodka bottle filled with gasoline. "Now!"

With a short cry, Ellis threw the molotov at the tank, and felt his heart drop into his stomach when it soared over the monster's hulking shoulders and burst into flames on the ground behind it.

"Shit," he hissed, drowned out by the roar of the tank. He reached for his shotgun as the horrendous infected knocked Coach and Nick out of the way so easily they could have been inanimate objects, and next thing he knew the tank was rounding on him. "Shit, shit!" he shouted, running backwards and shooting it, once, twice, three, four times…

As if Fate herself had felt pity for him, the tank suddenly fell to its knees, and Ellis breathed a harsh sigh of relief, stumbling back a few more feet. But almost as a reminder to his situation, when gravity called the tank's unnatural torso to the ground, its large arm flailed out and hit Ellis in the leg, causing his knee to buckle and his balance to abandon him for the moment until he tripped, landing on his backside. The absolute pain that ripped through his body forced a hoarse cry from his throat, and he immediately rolled onto his side, not minding the concrete burning his arm as long as the pressure was off his unfortunate bruises. In the distance, he could vaguely hear Nick and Coach shouting, but his head was whirling and he couldn't quite discern the meaning of their words. All that stuck out to him was that his name had been called out, and that Rochelle was dying.

The world was drained of hope, and it had been a long time since Ellis had felt so helpless. He struggled to get up, fighting the pain of last night's decision, when Coach stumbled to his side, blood and worry painting his face. "Ellis, what happened, did it—"

"Ro," he interrupted, and Coach's hand steadied him as he sat up, cringing from the pressure on his ass. "Ro, where's Ro—" he said, tone laced with hysteria, and looking further down the road, he saw her lying motionless, Nick kneeling over her with his health kit open and resting on the ground next to his knees.

Ignoring Coach's weary words ("Ellis, you shouldn' be gettin' up. What's hurtin'? Did the tank getcha? …Why ain'tcha bleedin', you ain't got a scratch on ya…"), Ellis slowly got to his feet and stumbled blindly to Rochelle where he fell to his knees beside her.

"Rochelle," he screeched, hands finding her shoulders and wanting to shake before realizing that his hands were covered with blood just from touching her momentarily. She was still conscious, eyes open and staring jadedly at Ellis. "Oh God, oh shit—"

"Hey!" Ellis looked up hysterically to see Nick glaring at him. There was blood running down his face from a cut somewhere behind his hairline. "Get the hell out of my way if you want her to heal! Since you don't seem to be hurt, why don't you go take care of Coach? Or did you not notice, that goddamned tank hit him against a fucking blockade!"

Ellis swallowed and nodded and hesitantly backed away on his hands and knees before standing and stumbling back to Coach, who was sitting on the burning concrete, already working on his own cuts.

\--

Even after Nick's ministrations Rochelle was still much too weak to walk; she had lost a lot of blood, her leg was probably broken, and she certainly had broken ribs. The sun was beating down hard as Nick helped lift her onto Ellis' back.

"Y'alright, Ro?" Ellis asked softly, but her answer couldn't be heard over the sound of someone stumbling to the ground.

"Woah," he heard Nick say behind him, and turned. Coach was bent over on the cement, one hand steadying him and the other holding his head. Nick was kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder. "Hey Coach, what's going on?"

"Everythin' alright?" Ellis asked.

"Sorry, y'all," Coach murmured. "I musta hit my head on the blockade. I'm jus' a li'l dazed, is all."

"Where are those pills you had this morning?" Nick asked, slowly helping the other man to his feet. "A few of those should pick you up enough to get to Slidell." The conman looked up as Coach reached into his pocket and took out the bottle, and his eyes met Ellis' briefly. Ellis looked away and steadied his hold on Rochelle before continuing to walk forward in what was once upon a time the wrong lane.

\--

The highway split off to the right, interstate 190. Ellis had lain Rochelle down gently on the grass so that he, Nick, and Coach could determine where to go from there. She told him he better leave a pistol with her so she could cover their asses. Ellis placed the gun in her hand and held it for a few moments, and his heart swelled painfully when, despite everything, she grinned.

"If we keep on interstate 90, we can get to New Orleans quicker. It's all back roads, and it's pretty much a straight shot," Coach said, looking at the map he'd pulled from his bag.

"We can't do that," Ellis said hastily, and Coach and Nick looked at him questioningly. "We gotta get Rochelle to a hospital! She's gonna, well…" He trailed off, and consciously lowered his voice. "She's real bad, y'all. If we don' find some real medical supplies soon, she might not –"

Ellis found he was unable to finish that sentence, couldn't bring himself to say what may have become the inevitable. Rochelle couldn't walk, could barely _breathe_ … Even if the survivors could somehow get her leg in a cast, there was nothing they could do about the broken ribs, and they certainly could never stay in one place long enough for her to heal to functional state.

He half-expected Nick to fight him on his plan to take interstate 190 to Slidell and find a hospital. After all, hospitals were one of the few places that they avoided as much as possible, that and churches. Too many people rushed to those places when infection first struck, expecting to find safe havens from the chaos of the infected world; but that had not lasted. Ironically, they were now the most dangerous places to be found.

Nevertheless, the equation came down to keeping on the road that would result in Rochelle's demise, or try to find the supplies that would help her. Ellis was prepared to tell Nick and Coach that he would leave them to go to Slidell; if that meant his death as well, then at least he knew he'd done right by Rochelle.

To his surprise, Nick nodded, almost in resignation. "Okay," he said simply and wearily. Ellis released the shaky breath he realized he'd been holding.

Coach's brows furrowed with concern. "Are y'all sure about that? We might not make it through Slidell alive."

Nick shrugged and the steady gaze he'd been aiming at Ellis suddenly found the sky. "What makes you think we'll survive through New Orleans?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with the title for this chapter, but in the end, I think "Steady" was a good choice. Throughout the chapter, Ellis is forced to present the illusion of steadiness despite the pain he is experiencing. They all must steady each other after a devastating attack. And Ellis' conviction in laying down his life for the sake of nobleness is unfailingly steady. (How nerdy am I for analyzing my own writing?) Also, when I wrote the first half of this chapter, I hadn't really played L4D2 in ages, and after playing again, I realized that them going to New Orleans is canon. That was totally unintentional. xD I just wanted to give them a reason to pass through Slidell...


	4. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh i tried really hard to crank this chapter out i'm sorry if it's not very good/feels too fillery

There was construction happening on the highway on the outskirts of Slidell when the infection struck, and all of the trucks and machinery were still sitting unused, a new system of exits onto Interstate 10 never to be finished. Southern Surgical Hospital was just north of them, right off the freeway, and when it came into view, Ellis’ grip on Rochelle tightened, a painful mixture of relief and dread almost making him stop in his tracks. Rochelle had tried to cover him as they walked through the small neighborhoods on the outskirts of Slidell, but the blood loss and excruciating pain had caused her to pass out more than a few times, leaving the responsibility of providing absolute cover to Nick and Coach as Ellis tried to keep calm and revive her.

Looking around, it quickly became apparent that they would have to climb down the unstable dirt piles and unfinished concrete to get to the main road below. Nick stood tall. “I’m gonna climb down first, get a lay of the land down there. Once I know it’s safe, we can move our gear down, and then work together to get Ro down.”

“Why you goin’ down alone,” Coach said, standing opposite him. Nick glanced at Rochelle, and then Ellis. Then his gaze landed on Coach.

“It’s obvious you’re still out of it from that Tank attack—”

“I ain’t—”

“You are, Coach. It’s alright, man. You hit your head, we all understand. You’re better off staying with Ellis and Ro to provide backup. I can cover myself in a quiet place like this, but you can’t expect Ellis to cover himself and her, not when she’s been unconscious more than not.”

A long, tense silence followed his words. Just when Coach opened his mouth to respond, they all heard a weak noise from Rochelle. Ellis was already kneeling next to her, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, murmuring, “What is it?” close to her ear. She looked up at him weakly, barely conscious. He felt his heart tug painfully. Finally she closed her eyes and murmured, “Nevermind it.”

He lingered close to her for several more moments, expression just as worried as the ones Coach and Nick also wore. But the moment ended when they all heard a quiet growl from under the bridge. 

“Sounds like a Hunter,” Ellis whispered, the hand that wasn’t placed comfortingly on Rochelle’s shoulder reached for his pistol. Nick nodded his agreement, and very carefully leaned over the edge, trying to gauge its position. But of course as soon as Nick came in view of it, it roared and leapt up, fortunately missing its mark and giving Nick and Coach the opportunity to shoot at it midair. It fell to the ground below them, unmoving.

They all breathed a sigh of relief, and Nick steeled himself. “Alright, we can’t waste more time being out in the open like this. I’m going down there.”

Coach and Ellis watched him go, Coach’s, “Be careful,” earning a grunt of acknowledgment, and Ellis’ silence earning him a quick glance before Nick climbed over the ledge and onto the unfinished concrete support beam. They watched him inch his way down for a few minutes but realized they ought to keep an eye out for any unwanted guests.  
It was a long, uncomfortable twenty minutes of waiting. No infected came into view of Coach and Ellis, but they did hear a few growls and snarls followed by the sound of thwacking and the wet cracking of skin and bones from below them. Finally, after it had been silent for several more minutes they heard the sound of shuffling and then climbing. Coach peered over the edge to see Nick making his way back up to them.

“Found an ax down there,” he said as soon as he was close enough that he wouldn’t have to yell. Coach and Nick nodded their appreciation, knowing a weapon like that could come in handy if and when they ran out of ammunition.

“Lucky break,” Coach remarked, handing their mostly empty health packs down to Nick once he made it to the ledge. Nick brought their things down carefully until finally they were able to move Rochelle. Coach went down first, and Nick and Ellis worked together to hold onto Rochelle as they climbed down, moving cautiously to avoid causing her more injury, and trying their best to avoid each other’s eyes as they did so.

Once they all safely reached the ground, they took a moment to catch their breaths, looking across the road and over the large parking lot in front of the hospital. There was only one infected visible to them, perched on the ground and drooling blood onto the boiling concrete.

“Normally I’m happy to see such a small turnout, but damn if this doesn’t give me a bad feeling,” Nick murmured. Coach nodded his agreement, and Ellis, as was his norm for the past day, said nothing, only tightening his grip on Rochelle. Nick glanced at him while Coach was peering into the distance for any other infected and Ellis pretended not to notice. “I’ll go out there first and take care of our one infected friend. Coach, you and Ellis cover me until I give you the go-ahead to follow.”

This time Coach didn’t even bother to argue, and he poised his semi-automatic over the barricade they were hiding behind as Nick made his way cautiously out into the open. Ellis didn’t watch him go, one hand on Rochelle’s shoulder and both eyes keeping a lookout behind them. Soon enough, he heard the far off yet all too familiar sound of an ax entering a skull, and Coach was nudging him lightly. “There’s our signal,” he murmured, and stood. Ellis exhaled the shaky breath he’d been holding.

“Aight, Ro. Next stop, hospital,” he said as he lifted her gently and Coach helped her onto Ellis’ back. She could only grunt in return.

Once they caught up with Nick, the conman started talking softly as they walked. “As long as we’re quiet going in, we can probably avoid attracting attention. I really don’t know why this area is so empty. Maybe we just finally hit some luck.”

“Careful ya don’ jinx it,” Coach teased, and Nick released a breathy laugh. Ellis felt a wave of confused hope turn in his stomach at the not entirely unpleasant sound.

It wasn’t until they were close enough to see through the glass doors into the dark hospital that they realized they in fact weren’t quite so lucky as to happen upon an infected-free hospital. They could make out five figures standing idly in the waiting room.

“Alright,” Nick breathed, “hopeful feelings gone.”

“It’s fine,” Ellis heard himself say. “It’s not like we expected to run into nothing.” Nick looked at him for a long moment and when Ellis finally met his eyes he almost resented the apologetic tenderness he saw.

“Kill all sons o’ bitches, right?” Coach offered, and Ellis nodded his agreement. Nick breathed another laugh.

“Alright,” he said again, and this time his tone was firm. “Let’s do this.”

The door had been automatic not too long ago, but this area had no electricity, and so Coach had to pry open the doors manually, which drew the attention of the two closest infected. Nick was quick to step forward and cut them down, but when the three others came at once Coach was forced to bring up his gun and unload four bullets into them, two for each one Nick didn’t get with his ax.

As soon as the echo of the gunshots faded away, they all felt the tremor of terror at the heavy sound of footsteps roaring like thunder above them. Just like that their slow infiltration reached code red. None of them said anything except fervent curse words under their breath, but they all moved as if they had discussed their plan thoroughly.  
Coach led the way for Ellis carrying Rochelle into the hallway labelled for examination rooms, Nick bringing up the rear. They piled into the nearest room, and while Ellis laid Rochelle on the exam bed, heedless of the two decomposing bodies on the floor, Nick and Coach worked together to barricade the door. Nick slammed it shut and locked it while Coach brought over a chair to hook under the door handle.

“This won’t keep them out,” Nick said quickly.

“Let’s all just stay low and keep quiet,” Coach replied as calmly as he could. They were all breathing hard, but Nick nodded and crouched low with Coach next to the door. Ellis crouched down next to the bed, one hand holding tight to Rochelle’s and the other covering his mouth, fighting down the nausea from the smell of rotting flesh.

Within moments the thunder was upon them, soundings of running and banging and shrieking prefacing the sound of glass shattering, and though they had to bite down hard on their tongues every time there was banging at their door, it died down only after a torturously long five minutes. They all waited several more moments before daring to move, but eventually, slowly the three men stood from their crouches. Ellis didn’t loosen his grip on Rochelle’s hand, and while he asked her how she was doing in a hushed whisper, Coach and Nick moved to the counter to take inventory of what was in the drawers and cupboards.

They found several files and pamphlets, stethoscopes and other small instruments used at any check-up. There was a small amount of local anesthetic and quite a few bandages, but nothing that could help them.

“This ain’t lookin’ good,” Coach muttered as he rifled through a drawer for the second time, just in case he missed something. Ellis had his head in his arms next to Rochelle’s barely-conscious body.

“It’s okay,” Nick said, more calm than he had been earlier. “We can make this work.” He closed the cupboard he’d been looking through carefully and turned to Ellis. “We just need to think. Figure out what exactly we need to do. Ellis?”

Ellis slowly lifted his head and looked at Nick. When their eyes met, Ellis felt his exhaustion compounded behind his eyes. Nick’s gaze was intense but well-meaning and Ellis was much too tired to feel anything.

“We’re gonna save her, Ellis. We just have to think.”

His voice was too goddamn tender, but Ellis nodded.

“Ro, you awake?” Nick asked. She made a soft, affirmative sound.

“Do you know your blood type?”

She was silent for several moments, and Ellis wondered if she had heard, or if she even had the strength to respond, but finally she croaked out, “A… positive…”

“Shit,” Nick said almost immediately after she’d spoken, and Ellis wasn’t sure if his expression was frightened or hopeful. “I’m A-positive too. If this isn’t a stroke of luck I don’t know what is.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Ellis finally said. Nick looked at him more patiently than he ever had before and Ellis forced himself to look away.

“I’m talking about the fact that Rochelle lost a lot of blood. That and the pain are probably what’s causing her to lose consciousness so often. So if we can get her a blood transfusion, she might be able to pull through.”

“That’s a good idea, Nick. We’re also gon’ need to do somethin’ about her leg.”

“What about her ribs?”

Coach shook his head. “I’ve seen a couple students break ribs during some nasty tussles on the football field. The best you can do is ice it, take some pain medication, and get bed-rest.”

Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s gonna be a problem. A blood transfusion is one thing, but how are we gonna be able to get her to stay still long enough to heal…”

There was a long silence then as the three of them mused over possibilities. Finally Ellis spoke up. “If we can gather all the supplies we need while we’re here, we can get out of here and find a house to set up in for a while, at least ‘til she’s well ‘nough to fend for herself again.”

Coach and Nick didn’t respond immediately, both mulling over Ellis’ words for a few moments before at last Coach nodded and Nick said, “Yeah, that’s probably the best we can do.”

“Aight, I’ma make a list of all the shit y’all need to gather for her. Unfortunately mos’ of it y’all’ll mos’ likely find in the emergency room—”

“Wait, Coach, what’re ya…” Ellis started, tone edging toward hysteric at the implication of Coach’s words. He glanced at Nick only briefly but quickly looked back to Coach when he realized Nick was watching him.

“Someone has to stay here with Ro, y’all, and…” He paused over some short internal conflict but finally his expression cleared and he looked at them with resolute eyes. “Nick’s right. I hit my head pretty hard back there and though I ain’t wanna admit it I have been feeling dizzy. It’s best if I stay here and keep an eye on Ro while you two get the supplies.”

Ellis couldn’t even retort when Coach admitted he was hurt, and he was quiet and avoided looking at anyone as Nick nodded and murmured, “Yeah, Coach, of course.”

Coach gave Ellis a long look that went unnoticed, but he finally set to writing down the list of what they’d need one of the pamphlets they’d found. Anesthetic, as many syringes and sterile wipes as they can find, plastic bags for the blood, cold compresses, at least one crutch, and if possible a foldable wheelchair for the purposes of transporting Rochelle without having to rely on Ellis to constantly carry her. “Hospitals don’t keep painkillers around typically speakin’, so we’re gon’ have to find a pharmacy at some point. But we can worry ‘bout that later.”

Nick nodded his affirmation, but Ellis still wasn’t looking in their direction. Instead, he was staring pointedly at the wall and trying to convince himself that he could handle being alone with Nick, that he could trust him, that hostility toward him right now wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Coach waited patiently for several moments before walking a few feet over to him and grabbing his tense arm, forcing the young mechanic to look at him. “Ellis, I don’ know what’s got ya like this but it’s been this way since early this mornin’. Whatever it is, ya gotta snap the fuck out of it, ya hear?”

Nick took a step toward them, one arm raised as if to pacify the other man, the words, “Woah, Coach, it’s okay—” already coming out of his mouth when Ellis forcibly pulled himself out of Coach’s grasp. A long, tense silence followed until Ellis sighed, shoulders relaxing.

“Nah, yer right, Coach. I gotta focus, for Ro—for all our sakes. I can pull out of it. Sorry fer worryin’ ya,” he said, voice quiet but clear. Coach nodded and patted him on the shoulder, his expression sentimental.

“It’s aight, kid. Just be careful out there. You make sure ya come back to us in one piece.” He turned then to Nick. “Same to you, ya hear? Y’all watch out for each other.”

Nick nodded soberly and only glanced at Ellis briefly before turning to take the list off the counter and stuff it in the empty health kit they would use to store the small supplies. Ellis took those few moments to walk over to Rochelle, sidestepping the dead bodies, and took her hand. She looked at him, exhausted and working hard to keep her eyes open and on his. “Ellis,” she said, and it was barely over a whisper, “both of y’all better be careful – or I’m gonna kick your asses, alright?”

Ellis let out a soft laugh and ignored the stinging in his eyes. “We’ll be back before ya know it,” he said softly. He squeezed her hand and leaned down to press a short kiss to her forehead. “See ya soon, Ro.”


	5. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the ending! please don't send me hate mail (...)

There were zombies in the hallway already when they closed the examination room door behind them, and Nick and Ellis certainly didn’t go unnoticed by them. Ellis kicked one back as Nick used his axe to cut the other down, wincing at the continued pain from the stretch of his thigh. He looked over in time to see that Nick had noticed, and gave a grimace of his own as turned away to cut down the other zombie that attempted to stumble back to its feet. 

Ellis could tell Nick wanted to say something, but time was of the essence and he wasn’t going to risk attracting the attention of more zombies than he knew they would already have to deal with. 

The two men moved slowly, watching their steps and staying low when they reached the end of the hallway, back to the entrance where the bodies of the five infected they’d killed on their way in still lay motionless, blood pooled around them. The bodies and the rest of the floor were now covered in glass, however, as many of the infected who had stormed through the building at the sound of gunshots had broken it and the surrounding windows to jump out into the parking lot outside. There was a huge group of them out there now, stumbling around drunkenly in the summer heat. 

“If we can avoid getting into any fights in here, they’ll all probably stay outside. We just gotta be careful,” Nick breathed. Ellis frowned and tried to avoid looking at him. 

“No shit, man,” he muttered. Nick smirked, and let out a small snort of laughter. Ellis turned to scowl at him, and caught Nick smiling before the man’s expression became more sober. 

“It’s weird to see you sulking so much,” he commented lightly, which only made Ellis scowl more. 

“Don’t talk to me about sulkin’,” he muttered, and crouching, moved to the information desk, likely in search of directions to any supply room. Nick followed after him closely. 

“I’m not blaming you. I know it’s my fault. I really am sorry,” he added, voice lowering even more. Ellis felt a twinge in his chest, a strange, tight, and hot feeling that he’d never experienced before. Nick was close, and continued whispering as Ellis continued to not look in his direction, both of them fumbling through the desk drawers for anything like a floor plan. “I don’t even think I really deserve to explain myself, but I know that I am in the wrong. I don’t expect forgiveness from you. I swear I won’t ever touch you again—”

“Shut up, Nick,” Ellis said through his teeth, hands paused in their movements for a moment as he added, “I don’t wanna talk about this, ‘specially not right now.” 

Nick nodded his understanding and turned his full attention to looking through the information desk, soon after pulling out the hospital map they’d been hoping to find, holding it up to the other man. “Here we go,” he whispered, and Ellis hesitantly moved closer to get a look at it himself. Sensing his reluctance, Nick simply handed the paper over to Ellis. 

“Where to, Overalls?” he prompted, and Ellis glanced at him before turning his attention to the map in his hands. 

“There’s a couple’a supply rooms in the building, but there’s only one on this floor,” he murmured, pointing it out on the map. 

“Do you think there’d be crutches or a wheelchair in there?” Nick asked uncertainly. The man moved his finger to the plan of the second floor. “It’d be more likely to have crutches here, right? Look, there’s the surgery ward.” 

Ellis bit his lip and looked around the map for where the stairs were. “Aight,” he conceded, “we oughta look there first.” He folded the map and stuffed it in the pocket of his coveralls, and finally looked over to Nick long enough to make real eye contact with him. “Nick,” he started quietly. They were very close, and Nick seemed to realize after a moment that his mouth was hanging open and closed it, swallowing. “If – if anything happens, if… if it comes down to it, you have to save yourself. It’s okay if I die, but you have the blood type that Ro needs. You can’t die.” 

Nick’s lips formed a thin line. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said after a long moment. “Neither of us are dying. Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re gonna get the supplies we need and get back to Rochelle so fast she’ll never know we were gone, okay?”

Ellis stared at him for what felt like forever, then. He didn’t know how to quell the fear in his chest, the fear that was so new to him because he’d never been scared of their circumstances before. Now that Rochelle’s life was on the line, he couldn’t think straight. 

“Okay?” Nick asked again. Ellis blinked, and finally nodded. 

“Let’s go,” Ellis said. 

The two men made their way to the nearest stairwell, stepping lightly. Nick’s grip on his axe was strong, and Ellis held his pistol out at the ready. They got inside without being noticed, but the moment Ellis shut the door to the stairs behind him, Nick shushed him. 

“What?” Ellis started, but Nick held his hand out and shushed him once again. 

“Listen,” he whispered, looking up the stairs. Ellis froze, focusing his attention in the same direction until the sound of high-pitched crying reached his ears. 

“Witch,” he whispered. Nick nodded his agreement. 

“It doesn’t sound like she’s actually in the stairwell. Let’s move slowly,” Nick suggested. “If we’re careful we should be able to avoid her.” 

Ellis wasn’t sure if he agreed, but there wasn’t any other option. He raised his pistol and tried not to think about the fact that he’d thought the same the night before, or about exactly what that had done to him. 

They moved cautiously up the stairs, the witch’s weeping growing louder the closer to the door to the second floor they came. Ellis didn’t realize until Nick was slowly opening that door that he should’ve made Nick take up the rear, but he realized it too late. The second Nick stepped around the corner, the witch was already stumbling in their direction. They were already too close, and with nowhere to duck out of the way. 

She howled, and the next moment Nick was on the floor beneath her. 

Nails that were more like claws tore into Nick’s skin, bloody wounds instantly blooming each place she touched. Nick tried to struggle against her, but his axe had been knocked out of his hands and her strength was inhuman. Nick shouted out a swear, and Ellis froze the same way he had earlier that day when the tank had rounded on Rochelle, that still-unfamiliar fear lodging into his throat and stopping his movements.

“Overalls, the axe—!” Nick gasped out, his voice wet with his own blood.

Ellis came back to himself and dove for the axe, but as soon as he drove it into the witch’s back, more infected appeared at the end of the hallway. "Shit,” Ellis hissed, the witch not stopping her assault even with the axe lodged deep in her spine. 

Ellis pulled out his pistol again and aimed at the infected running towards them. He didn’t even have to think before firing; this time he wouldn’t miss his mark. 

The three bodies fell to the floor, and Ellis didn’t hesitate before shoving the pistol back in its holster and digging the axe from the witch’s back just to swing at her again, hacking at her deceptively frail-looking body. Blood spattered all over him, all over Nick, and after the fifth whack of the axe into her body, the final one into the back of her neck, partially severing it, she finally fell over, motionless. 

The sound of shrieking and running came from below, the door to the stairwell on the first floor banging open. “ _Shit_ ,” Ellis hissed again, pushing the dead witch off of Nick only to see the man was barely breathing. His shirt was torn up, blood covering his torso. Ellis wasn’t sure how much of it was his own and how much of it belonged to the witch. 

There was no time to think. Footsteps boomed up the stairs and more infected appeared at the other end of the hallway and Ellis grabbed onto Nick’s arms and dragged him into the nearest room. The older man’s legs weren’t even fully in the room before the infected from the end of the hallway made it to them, and the door to the stairwell banged open. 

Ellis pulled out his pistol and aimed haphazardly at the infected that tried to come into the room, realizing too late that he’d left the axe in the hallway. He got the nearest one in the chest, and the force of the bullet pushed it back enough that Ellis could pull Nick the rest of the way into the room. Straightening as quickly as he could, he kicked the same infected in the chest, pushing it even further back so that he could slam the door in its face. 

As soon as the door was closed he whirled around, pressing his back to it and glancing around the room with urgency. Fists pounded against the door and the walls, and Ellis’ breathing came fast with fear as he quickly moved to the desk in the corner of the room and pushed it in front of the door. He knew it wouldn’t hold for very long, but it bought him enough time to kneel next to Nick, hands shaking and soft expletives leaving his lips as he inspected the wounds covering the man’s chest. 

“I sure fucked up, huh?” Nick croaked, and Ellis shook his head, hands still shaking hard as he lifted Nick to remove his suit jacket, pressing it against Nick’s chest to stem the bleeding. The man winced, and Ellis continued to shake his head, willing the stinging in his eyes to go away before they blurred his vision too much. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do this, Nick, you promised, you _promised_ we’d get back to her, she _needs_ you,” Ellis said, voice coarse and gruff as the banging continued at the door. 

With what little strength he had, Nick lifted his hand to the one Ellis was using to press his jacket against his chest, which made Ellis jolt and look into his face. The man wore a grim smile. Ellis could make out the cut he’d given him earlier that morning when he’d punched him. It seemed like nothing now compared to the wounds covering his chest. 

“Sorry,” Nick choked out. “I promised I wouldn’t touch you again but here I am.” He slowly moved his hand away from Ellis’. Not knowing why, the young man grabbed at his hand anyways. 

“Fuck you, man,” Ellis said, his own voice choking as well. He hated Nick, and hated the fact that hot tears swelled in his own eyes. With his other arm he reached up to rub at his eyes, and hated the sob that tore from his throat. “Why did you do this to me?” he quavered. 

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” Nick whispered. “And it isn’t an excuse anyways.” 

“I don’t care,” Ellis said, pressing the jacket against his chest again defiantly, brows furrowed and not looking at his face because of how embarrassed he felt to be crying at a time like this, to be crying at all. “I think I deserve a lil bit of an explanation, since we’re prob’ly gonna die in here.” 

Nick grunted. “I didn’t want you to die.” 

“ _You_ weren’t supposed to die!” Ellis shouted, which only increased the banging on the door. 

“I know,” he whispered, but Ellis couldn’t even hear him over the sound of the infected outside. “I just couldn’t let anything happen to you, after what I did. But I fucked up anyways.” 

“Tell me why, man. Ya know we came here for Ro, to help her, and now she’s—” Ellis couldn’t continue, feeling the tears come to his eyes again. “I told you it was okay for me to die, so—”

“It’s not okay for you to die, damnit.” Nick squeezed Ellis’ hand which still hadn’t left his. “Fuck, Ellis, I know it’s not fair of me but I – love you.” 

Ellis jolted, brows furrowing heavily and instinctively pulled his hand away. “You… you _what_?” Nick sighed and closed his eyes, as if not seeing Ellis’ expression would make his explanation any easier. “But, you always talk about Ro… You were plannin’ on havin’ yer way with her last night, otherwise I would’ve never…”

“I was only pretending. I was fucking—I was denying it to myself because I’ve always denied it to myself. I never wanted you to find out and I thought if I acted like I was interested in Ro you wouldn’t ever get suspicious of me.” He coughed and suddenly there was blood on his lips. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Don’t know why I was so worried about it, now. Guess there’s no point in denying who you are when most of the world is gone to shit.” 

Ellis bit his lip and shook his head, slowly looking away from him with pained disbelief. “I don’t – I don’t understand, Nick. You were still ‘bout to try’n have sex with her, take _advantage_ of her—”

The small strip of window above the door handle finally shattered, and the sound of the infected screeching on the other side of the door grew multiple times louder than it already had been. Ellis looked over at it, consternation painted over his face as several decaying and rotten hands struggled to reach into the room, cutting themselves on the broken glass and splattering blood all over the door. 

“Ellis,” Nick said, voice only just loud enough that Ellis could hear it over the cacophony that now rung in his ears. He looked over at the other man again, because despite everything looking at Nick was still somehow better than at his inevitable death. Nick’s eyes were open now, and Ellis could see in them that such had been his intention: _Don’t look at that. Look at me._

But when Nick opened his mouth to speak again, his voice was so weak that Ellis really couldn’t hear him anymore. He swallowed, and against his better judgment he leaned in. Though he felt sick, he pressed close enough that he could feel Nick’s breath on his ear. 

“I wasn’t going to take advantage of her, at least not the way you think. She told me a while ago that she found me attractive. She asked me if I wanted to have sex, and I said no. But the more I thought about you the more I thought I needed to hide, and finally last night I decided that I needed to just fuck her if there was any possibility it could make me normal, make me stop thinking about you.” Ellis shivered, had to force himself not to move away, his head swimming with too many confused emotions. “I got so drunk because that’s the only way I’d be able to go through with it. I never would’ve thought you’d try to interfere, much less offer for me to… Well, I wasn’t in a position to really say anything with how gone I was, but when you kissed me, I just—”

Ellis winced and tilted his head away, closing his eyes, eyebrows drawn painfully. “So when you always come to check on me all quiet like in the middle of the night…” he started. 

The rest of the world seemed to drift away as Nick released a soft, choked sigh, the only confirmation he would ever receive. 

Ellis bit his lip hard enough to tear at the skin, but he no longer had a need to pray for the strength to not cry. There was no longer anyone to cry in front of. 

“ _Fuck_ , Nick,” he whispered through a gasping sob. He allowed himself to cling to the dead man’s blood-soaked suit jacket, allowed himself the only moment of mourning he would have time for. His mind drifted to Rochelle, who would likely soon die herself without the blood transfusion she so desperately needed, and to Coach, who likely wouldn’t make it on his own after suffering a concussion. 

But Ellis had been prepared to die if it meant a shot at saving Rochelle. He swallowed heavily, and the snarling and shouting from the other side of the door returned to his senses. 

He pulled out his pistol and exhaled slowly as he aimed it at the space where the window used to be. “Kill all sons of bitches,” he breathed. Three shots, and the ammo was gone, two more infected piled at the ground outside the door. 

Ellis had then only to wait.


End file.
